


Half the Victory

by apricot_bones



Category: Hitman (Comics), Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricot_bones/pseuds/apricot_bones
Summary: Knowing your enemy is only half the victory, you also have to know yourself. Diana Burnwood and her agent are working on it.
Relationships: Agent 47 & Diana Burnwood, Agent 47/Diana Burnwood
Comments: 56
Kudos: 99





	1. Colombia to Thailand

“Nice work, 47.” Diana’s voice sounded in his ear, steady and authoritative. “Now make your way to an exit. Looks like the village bus stop is your best option, and there’s a bus due in fifteen minutes.”

He clutched his right arm as he strode through the undergrowth, stumbling a little and breathing hard. The pale blue shirt he’d taken from an unsuspecting guard was ripped and damp with sweat and blood. 

“47?” 

“I’m here.” He replied in his usual quiet monotone, scanning the ground for the sack he’d stowed before sneaking into the compound. 

“Are you... alright?” 

“Not my best run.” His brows knitted together in pain and disappointment. Sloppy. Unacceptable. He definitely needed more practice. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to let them interrogate him; it had been more violent than predicted. 

He spotted the sack and crouched beside it, rifling through the contents with one hand: passport, money, keys, medical supplies, clothing. He shrugged out of the filthy shirt, letting out an involuntary moan of pain.

“47?” She sounded concerned now.

He didn’t reply. His head was swimming. He knelt on the ground, steadying himself with his left arm. Well this is new, he thought. 

“I’m sending the extraction team. Stay where you are.”

“No.” He said through gritted teeth. “Don’t give Soders the ammunition. I’ll be fine. I just need... a moment.” 

She paused. It was odd - he’d never disagreed with her before. But she knew as well as he did that they were on thin ice with Soders. “Can you still make it to Thailand?”

“Yes.” He said. Though he wasn’t sure. He found morphine in the first aid kit and plunged the needle into his right shoulder. 

“I’m getting you a flight out of El Dorado tonight.” 

“Okay.” He breathed a little easier now that the drugs were taking effect. “I’ll be there.”

Five minutes later, Agent 47 walked out onto the the main road leading into Santa Fortuna. He’d changed into a dark navy linen suit that hid the bulk of bandages wound tight around his ribs and right forearm. 

As he neared the village, he heard the mechanic talking animatedly to a customer about a band that was playing in the square that evening. 47 quietly dropped the wrench he’d ‘borrowed’ earlier into a patch of grass near the workshop.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief as the bus stop came into view, and another as the dusty old bus made it’s way towards him. He sat at the back, closing his eyes and resting his head against the grubby window. 

***

39 hours and three plane rides later, 47 stepped off the boat and onto the pier at the Himmapan. He walked up the plush carpeted steps to the grand hotel entrance. The morphine was wearing off and his head was pounding 

The young woman at the front desk greeted him. “Welcome to the Himmapan, Sir. Are you checking in?”

He nodded. “Tobias Rieper.” 

“Ah, Mr Rieper.’ She smiled, pushing a key card towards him. “Here’s your room key, you’re in suite 203. Can we help with your luggage?”

“No, thank you.” He replied. Gripping the brown leather hold-all he’d retrieved from a locker in Dallas airport. 

“Your wife arrived a few hours ago. She’s already checked in.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he managed to maintain a neutral expression. “Excellent. Do you know where she is?”

“I believe she’s waiting for you upstairs, Sir.” 

He nodded, his mind racing. He winced slightly as he picked up the key card with his injured right arm. 

The silverballer shifted uncomfortably under his jacket as he followed the burgundy-clad bellboy up to the second floor. He knew he couldn’t afford another shoot out now. He hadn’t been able to look at his wounds since he left Colombia and the pain was making him light headed. He desperately needed a few hours to wash, fix himself up, and contact Diana. 

“Here you are, Sir. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call the front desk.” The bellboy bowed before turning back towards the foyer. 

The door to the suite was unlocked. 47 entered and closed it behind him. The vast room was empty but he could hear a tap running in the bathroom to his right. He placed his luggage down on the thick ivory carpet, reached for the pistol, and pointed it at the closed bathroom door. 

The sound of running water stopped. He was dizzy - sweat breaking out across his forehead. He gripped the back of a chair for support. The door opened and Diana walked out. 

“Mrs Rieper.” He said with an uncharacteristic flood of relief. He dropped the pistol and sank to the floor.

Diana rushed to kneel beside him. He registered soft, cool hands on his face and sliding under his suit jacket, probing for injuries. “What happened?” 

“It was too easy to get in here and point a gun at your head.” He said, before finally slipping into oblivion.

***

It was dark when he woke. The room was cool and quiet. 47 glimpsed an inky, diamond-studded sky from the window at the foot of the vast bed. He peered down at his injured arm, resting atop the silky purple bedclothes. Fresh bandages had been applied and his bruised knuckles shone with the residue of a soothing ointment. His entire body ached.

Diana was curled in an armchair beside the bed, her head resting on her folded arms and her eyes closed. He listened to the sound of her light, steady breathing. Had he ever slept beside another person? He uselessly probed the misty parts of his memory - where everything was just beyond reach. Maybe there had been someone, once upon a time. 

He hadn’t seen Diana in person for over four years, not since his initial induction into the ICA. She was however, a constant voice in his head, even when they weren’t working an active case. 

47 couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt about her, even to himself. The familiar sound of her voice purring in his ear was both comforting and exciting. Diana always knew what to do. She’d brought order where there had been chaos - had given him structure and purpose. Before Diana, he’d been alone.

He turned to look at her. Her previously cropped hair had grown to her shoulders and it fell about her face in coppery tendrils. She looked older, and it suited her. There were new circles under her eyes, and a feint crease on her brow. 

With some difficulty, he sat up and pushed the bed covers away. He realised, with a stab of embarrassment, that someone had changed his clothes. He was wearing a pair of soft grey track pants and a white cotton t-shirt that he didn’t recognise. He wondered vaguely where they’d come from as he stepped carefully out of the bed and moved quietly into the next room. 

The suite was opulently decorated in various shades of ivory and gold, and furnished with indigo velvet sofas and rich mahogany furniture. Huge windows lined the back wall, giving a spectacular view of the hotel gardens and the sparkling river beyond. 

47’s hold-all was perched on the dining table in the centre of the room. He retrieved his silverballer and tucked it into the back of his waistband. More luggage - Diana’s, he assumed - sat beside it. There was a bizarre domesticity to seeing his belongings mingled with hers. Even if everything he’d brought with him had been carefully selected by someone at the ICA. 

He padded over to the well-stocked drinks cabinet, uncorked a bottle of Suntory, and poured two fingers of the pale amber liquid into a heavy crystal glass. He downed it in one, and went to pour another. 

“I’ll take one of those.” Diana’s voice came from behind him. He paused briefly before filling a second glass. He turned towards her, holding out the drink, and her fingers brushed briefly against his as she took it. A tiny frisson of electricity shivered through him; it’d been a long time since he touched someone he didn’t intend to subdue or kill. 

Diana took a sip, eyeing him over the edge of the glass. “I thought you didn’t indulge in alcohol?”

He shrugged, and the motion triggered a nauseating wave of pain. He swayed on the spot and automatically brought his hand to the wound under his ribs.

“Shit.” She was at his side, hand on his elbow, steering him towards the sofa.

“I’m fine.” He said, but allowed her to guide him, guiltily relishing the feeling of her being so close.

“I’ve been pushing you too hard these last few years. Sometimes I forget you’re human.” She said.

“Humnn.” He grunted, and for a fleeting moment, his expression betrayed disappointment. She smiled as she helped him ease back into the fluffy cushions. 

“So there is an ego in there.” She chuckled softly.” They got you with a poison-tipped blade... some flower that grows in the mountains up there. That’s why you feel so rotten. It’ll take a while to wear off.”

She sank onto the sofa beside him. “The wounds were deep, you needed stitches. The doctor was baffled - he couldn’t believe you were still breathing.” 

“Doctor?”

“Don’t worry. Someone I trust.” She took a sip of whisky. 

He nodded. He was used to patching himself up in dank alleyways and motel bathrooms. This was new, and he was bewildered by it. 

“So what now?” He said, not looking at her.

“Oh I think we’ll stay here for a few days, give you time to recover properly.” She was close, their shoulders touching. “Besides, this is a rather nice hotel, don’t you think?”

“It’s... sufficient.” Was all he could think to say. 

“Would it help if I /ordered/ you to rest?” She was teasing him.

“Perhaps.” He replied, and he found himself smiling.


	2. Thailand

47 was dragged from sleep by the sound of banging. He reached automatically for the silverballer, but then another hand was in his and Diana was saying “come in.”

A female housekeeper wearing a familiar burgundy uniform entered the suite, pulling a neatly stacked trolley behind her. 

“Mr and Mrs Rieper,” she bowed.

“Good morning,” Diana smiled back. 

They’d fallen asleep on the sofa together. He could still feel the warm spot on his shoulder where her head had been resting and there was a feint crease on her cheek from the seam in his T-shirt. She leaned into him, hiding his bandaged arm. 

The housekeeper hovered in the doorway. “Would you like us to clean the room for you today?” 

“No, thank you. We’re still exhausted from our travels so we’re having a rather leisurely morning I’m afraid.” 

“Very well. We’ll bring breakfast to you, then? I have some menus here.”

“Oh that would be marvellous,” Diana looked up at him - her face inches from his, her dark blue eyes glittering - and squeezed his hand, “wouldn’t it, darling?”

“Perfect,” he replied, staring down at her, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. 

The housekeeper beamed. “I’ll leave these here for you then. Telephone to order when you’re ready.” She bowed again and shut the door. 

For a moment, Diana’s hand remained in his and she held his gaze. He didn’t know what to do, so waited, as always, for her cue. 

“So, Mr Rieper, how are you feeling?” she asked, not looking away. 

“Better.” 

“Good, and you’ll feel better still after some food.” She released his hand and rose to her feet. 47 pressed his palms into the tops of his thighs, suddenly bereft of touch. 

She retrieved the menus and returned to him, handing him one of the leather-bound books before settling herself in the armchair opposite.

“Shall I order for you?” 

He nodded. 

She reached for the telephone and dialled the front desk. “Hello... yes, suite 203. I’d like to order some breakfast to be brought to the room. A pot of coffee. Fresh fruit. Toast. Scrambled eggs... that’s everything. Half an hour - thank you.” The receiver clicked as Diana dropped it back into the cradle. 

She stood. “Well, I need to freshen up,” she laughed, dragging a hand through her hair, “I must look a fright.” 

He almost told her that, in fact, she looked quite lovely - standing in the golden mid-morning light, slightly ruffled from plane rides and stress and whisky and lack of sleep. But he held his tongue, almost certain that this would be an inappropriate thing to say to his handler. 

He noticed, for the first time, the bloody stains on the skirt of her dress. He must have been in bad shape when he arrived yesterday. Guilt twisted in his stomach; she should be safe behind a desk somewhere, not putting her life and career at risk because of him. 

“I should have let you call the extraction team,” he said. 

She started to speak, but he interrupted her.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Diana crossed her arms. “47, we both know I’d have sent them in if I wanted to, with or without your approval.” 

She sighed and her stance softened. “And you were right - God knows I don’t need any more trouble from Soders.”

“He still thinks you made the wrong choice?”

She considered him for a moment, her brow furrowed. “You’re... perfect, in the field, and Soders knows it. But we bruised his ego and he won’t forget that in a hurry. Just relax. Let me handle it. It’s what I do best.”

She turned and strode into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her without another word. 

After a few moments, 47 heard the sound of the shower being turned on. When he was sure Diana was out of earshot, he picked up the telephone. 

***

Breakfast arrived with much fanfare: platters of rainbow fruits, thick slabs of buttered toast piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs, fragrant coffee poured from a silver pot. 

Diana sat opposite him on the balcony, wrapped in a white hotel bathrobe, damp hair curling around her face. She studied a newspaper and he habitually scanned their surroundings, searching for possible threats. It was a comfortable silence, free from the awkwardness that 47 usually felt around other people. 

The sun was approaching its zenith and the breeze was warm and sweet. The gentle sound of chatter drifted up from the patio below. 

The pain from his wounds was reduced to a dull ache, quelled by the handful of pills Diana had placed beside his breakfast plate. “Doctor’s orders,” she’d said, and he’d been struck by how strange it was to hear her voice so real and so close, unobscured by an earpiece or the crackle of a bad reception. 

For a while, 47 lost himself in the indulgent fiction of their cover story. Just another wealthy businessman and his beautiful wife, taking a few days of well-earned respite in these glorious surroundings. 

He wondered what it would feel like to have a life like that - one where death didn’t follow him like a spectre.

***

Another knock on the door of the suite came at 2pm that afternoon. This time, 47 was expecting it, and he rose to greet the hotel staff. Diana peered over the lid of her laptop, confused. 

“Mr Rieper? There’s a delivery for you sir.” 

He held the door open and two bellboys bustled in, laden with boxes and bags. The packages were matte black, embossed with the iconic peaks of the Sanguine logo and garnished with silvery ribbons. 

“Thank you,” 47 said, as they brought the last bags in and exited the suite. He locked the door behind them. 

Diana had abandoned her research and stood staring at the delivery, hands on hips. Half laughing, she said “what’s all this?” 

He pulled a swathe of dark fabric from the nearest bag: a raven-black thigh-length trench coat. “/This/ is the Sanguine Autumn Winter 2004 collection. Well, some of it.”

Diana raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“I think I recall you encouraging me to relax,” he smiled, sliding a stack of boxes towards her. “These are for you.” 

She didn’t say anything, and for a moment he worried that he’d made a mistake. Then she tentatively unravelled the ribbon from the first box and drew out an exquisite dress. She held the garment up: a midi sleeveless sheath with an asymmetric draped neckline and a full skirt, crafted from charcoal linen. He knew she’d look wonderful in it. 

“47... this is beautiful,” she whispered.

Something inflated in his chest. He’d never given a gift to anyone before and the sensation made him feel almost... giddy - like he’d just drunk a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. 

“There’s more,” he said, nodding to the rest of the pile.

She draped the dress over the back of a chair and opened the second box, peeling back the layers of ivory tissue to reveal a pair of flat black leather sandals with delicate ankle ties. Next came a pair of thin wool slacks in the same charcoal grey as the dress, and finally, a sleeveless blouse in gauzy white cotton. 

He was inspecting a series of crisp dress shirts in various shades of pale grey and ice blue, and a suit constructed from a pleasingly lightweight black wool. 

He felt her eyes on him and looked up. 

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, and then her face broke into a grin, “I had no idea you were so... into this.” 

“Oh? You wound me. I didn’t think I was hiding my impeccable taste /that/ well,” he smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! A few notes at the end of the second chapter:
> 
> Firstly, thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on chapter 1. I’ve never posted any fiction before and I was incredibly nervous to do so. It was such a joy to read your messages, and it gave me the confidence boost I needed to finish writing chapter 2 <3
> 
> Secondly, I realise now that I did a rotten job of punctuating the dialogue in chapter 1, so I apologise for that. I’ve tried to improve things in chapter 2 but I’m still learning...
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this one x


	3. Thailand

47 washed carefully, unwinding the bandages and dabbing at the stitches beneath with the saline solution Diana had prepared for him. The wounds were red and puckered and surrounded by purple bruises. It stung like hell, but he felt better when it was done and fresh dressings were in place.

He slipped into a white Sanguine shirt - marvelling at the gossamer-light fabric and delicate stitching - and a new summer suit in stone-coloured linen. He finished the outfit with a pair of loafers in a rich, tobacco suede.

Diana emerged from the bedroom wearing the charcoal dress he’d chosen for her. Her hair was wound into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and simple makeup complimented her recently sun-kissed face. The only jewellery she wore was a gold watch on her left wrist.

47 realised he was staring and quickly looked away, gazing instead at his own reflection in the full-length mirror by the door. She came to stand beside him, smoothing her already-perfect hair. She smelled like Floris soap and English lavender.

“I don’t know my wife’s name,” he said, meeting her eyes in their shared reflection. 

“Dorothy,” she smiled conspiratorially, “we’ve been married for just over a year.”

“Newly weds.”

“Yes, the ceremony was in Italy, last August.” 

“Good choice.”

“It was.” 

He held out his uninjured arm and she took it. They exited the suite and made their way down the grand staircase and through the reception area to the hotel restaurant. 

Yesterday, he’d been in no state to appreciate the magnificent building, but today he drank it in: the huge glass atrium filled with exotic plants and flowers, the jewel-coloured butterflies fluttering around them, the birds singing from the trees that lined the central walkway, the imposing gold elephants stationed at the entrance.

A waiter seated them at a candlelit table on the terrace, overlooking the river and the glittering facade of the Wat Arun temple in the distance. Diana ordered a bottle of Tattinger - it was cold and crisp and the first few mouthfuls made his head spin.

47 wasn’t accustomed to socialising. His interest in people was usually fleeting; waning as soon as he’d gotten what he needed from them. But everything felt different with Diana, especially here, without the comfortable parameters that usually determined the workings of their professional relationship. 

He yearned to know more about her: what books and films she liked, what hobbies she enjoyed, who her friends were, whether she’d worked with any agents before him. He even wondered whether she had a real sweetheart somewhere, waiting for her to come home. This last thought brushed up against something painful and hollow inside him, so he quickly cast it aside. 

The food was marvellous. Diana ordered a Thai salad to start, and then salmon and rice and another bottle of champagne. He ate roasted scallops followed by venison with celeriac purée and confit potatoes swimming in butter. 

When the waiter came to ask them about desert, Diana reached across the table and took his hand.

“Oh darling, should we?” she said with a mischievous smile, and he found himself unable to refuse her - caught up again as he was, in the pleasant fantasy of being Mr Rieper. 

***

They made their way back to the suite just before midnight. The other guests watched enviously as they walked arm in arm, their heads close, talking quietly together. 47’s jacket was draped over Diana’s shoulders and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. They made a handsome couple.

“Wait here,” he said once they were inside the door. He couldn’t let himself get careless now, even after drinking too much champagne. He checked the bathroom, the bedroom, the balcony, the locks on the windows, and inside the wardrobes. Everything was as they’d left it a few hours earlier. 

When he returned, he found Diana curled on the couch, drinking a bottle of San Pellegrino from the mini bar. She held another out to him. He took it and seated himself beside her. 

“I’ve been doing some research,” she said.

He turned to look at her, “Oh?”

“I’ve registered you - well, Tobias Rieper - with a private hospital called GAMA, in Japan,” she continued, “if anything like this happens again, you’ll be well taken care of.”

So they were back to business, he thought, and for some reason it felt like a blow. 

“I was careless. It won’t happen again,” he said, staring at the bubbles in his unopened bottle of water. 

“47,” she reached out, resting a hand on his arm, “we’re going to make mistakes. Not many, but some nonetheless. I want you to come out of them alive.” 

He nodded, “I understand.” 

“Good.” 

Suddenly filled with frustration and self-loathing, he inwardly cursed himself for his carelessness in Santa Fortuna. It must have shown on his face because she said, gently, “As remarkable as you are, you /are/ human. So am I, for that matter.” 

He swallowed. His skin was hot where her fingers gripped his arm.

“We should get some rest,” he said. 

***

Despite his protests, Diana had insisted on sleeping on the sofa. 

“You were half-dead yesterday,” she’d said, “there is no debate.”

She’d been tapping away on her laptop, glasses perched on the end of her nose, when he obediently retreated to the bedroom. 

He stripped off his suit and flopped down onto the bed, staring at the dark ceiling above him. She would be leaving tomorrow, going back to London, and the knowledge was like a weight on his chest. He hoped there would be another job, and soon, because he desperately needed a distraction from this terrible, nameless new feeling that was swirling in the pit of his stomach.

He lay poker-straight, arms pinned to his sides - a habit he couldn’t shake from his time in the asylum. He felt the ghosts of cold, heavy chains biting into his wrists and ankles, anchoring him in place. 

/Human/, she’d called him, and the word rolled over and over in his mind until he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me a while to write as I’ve been super busy with work this week - I hope it was worth the wait! :-)
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has left comments and kudos on previous chapters. You have no idea how much it means to me <3


	4. Thailand

The luminescent face of his Omega watch read 5:15am. 

He closed his eyes and lay in silence for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts and checking in with his aching body. His throat was dry and he had a slight headache, probably caused by the bottle of champagne he’d consumed the night before. The injuries he’d sustained in Colombia were healing now - he felt an occasional pinch from the stitches under his ribs, but the worst of the pain was behind him. 

He supposed he had Ort-Meyer to thank for his remarkably quick healing abilities, which had been put to the test repeatedly over the last few years. He’d managed okay on his own up until now: stitching his own stab wounds, digging shrapnel from bullet holes, forcing dislocated bones back into place. He’d never considered seeking help from other people, least of all his handler, from whom he (shamefully) craved the thrill of constant approval. 

47 was confused by what Diana had done. Perhaps she was simply looking after her assets; she’d staked her whole career on him, after all, and he’d be of no use to her dead or broken beyond repair. But in an odd way, they were also /close/. He was certainly more familiar with her than he’d ever been with another human being. 

The rare days when they didn’t speak drove him mad. He’d thought this was because he /needed/ the work, because he’d been programmed with an insatiable drive to fulfil his purpose. But now he wondered whether there was another reason, too - whether maybe it was also /her/ he pined for during those long, sulking days waiting for the phone to ring. 

The thought made his stomach churn with apprehension. 

At 5:30am, he eased himself out of bed and dressed quietly in a tracksuit and sneakers. Diana was still sleeping when he crept past her and out into the hallway. The hotel was quiet, and he relished the peaceful stillness of the half-lit corridors. 

The sun was coming up as he stepped onto the riverbank and started running. He ran fast enough and long enough to make his lungs burn and his head clear, until all he could think of was the steady rhythm of his feet thudding into the sand beneath him.

An hour later, soaked in sweat, he made his way back through the hotel foyer. It smelled delicious, like strong coffee and freshly baked bread. A few of the tables in the restaurant were occupied with fellow early risers, and a tired-looking couple was checking in at the front desk. 

He started up the stairs to the second floor, then thought better of it and turned back towards the kitchens.

***

47 balanced two styrofoam cups of coffee and a brown paper bag as he unlocked the door to the suite one-handed. Diana was still sleeping, and he paused awkwardly, wondering whether to wake her. Mercifully, she stirred of her own accord, sitting up and sweeping her hair from her face.

“Is that coffee?” she asked, shifting to make room for him on the sofa.

He handed her a cup and the paper bag.

“You are, quite frankly, the best agent a girl could ask for”, she said, pulling a croissant from the bag.

He found it impossible not to smile in response. “I do my best.”

***

He waited on the balcony - leaning on the railing and watching the boats on the river - while she packed. The water taxi was already moored at the end of the pier. Soon, Diana would be on it. He didn’t know how long it would be until he saw her again; if they followed ICA protocol, it would be never. 

They had another job, she’d told him that morning, between mouthfuls of pastry. Two targets: a millionaire playboy suspected of murdering a woman in his hotel room, and the wealthy hotel owner who’d helped him cover it up. They’d been hired by the woman’s sister, who wanted the job done quickly and cleanly; an accident, then, with no witnesses and nothing suspicious left behind. 

The playboy was currently holed up in the penthouse suite of a Las Vegas casino and the hotelier had been spotted at his office on the strip. 47 would be flying out tomorrow. 

“I’ll make contact when you land”, Diana had said after briefing him, “let me know what you need.”

/You/ he thought guiltily, /I think I need you/, and he hated himself for it. He didn’t need anyone. 

“47?” her voice came from behind him and he turned to see her standing in the open doorway.

He reached for her luggage. “Allow me.” 

She handed over her bags. “How are you feeling?” she questioned, brow furrowed.

“Fine.”

“We can stay longer, the Vegas job can go to another team.”

/Yes/ he thought, but he shook his head and said again “I’m fine.” 

She stared at him for a moment longer before nodding and turning back inside. “Okay, let’s go.”

He followed, falling into step beside her. The hotel looked different this morning - just as beautiful, but without the magic it had held in the twilight of the previous evening. 

When they reached the end of the pier, he handed her luggage to an attendant who loaded it onto the back of the little wooden boat. He eyed the vessel suspiciously, assessing its safety and looking for anything that could have been tampered with. 

“Well darling,” she said, “I hope your business trip goes well.” 

She closed the small distance between them, looping her arms around his neck. He froze in shock for a moment before returning the embrace. 

Her cheek pressed against his, lips close to his ear. She said softly, surely not loud enough for anyone else to hear, “I’ll miss you.”

He’d only meant to pull back slightly, just enough to look at her properly. But all of a sudden, he was kissing her; arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She kissed him back, hands cupping his face, pulling him towards her. 

He’d never kissed anyone before, and if he’d had time to think about it, he might have worried about doing it wrong. But as it happened, he had no time to think about anything at all. His head was so full of her there was no room for anything else. The rest of the world had fallen away.

It was over too soon. They broke apart, her hands on his chest now. She was wild-eyed; caught in a rare moment of complete uncertainty. He gazed back at her in a daze. 

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and then she was on the boat, putting on her sunglasses. She didn’t look back as it pushed away from the pier and drifted out into the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m sorry it took me so long to update. This chapter took me a while to write for some reason. I hope you enjoy it and it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Thank you again for all of the lovely comments and Kudos on the previous chapters, I really enjoy reading your feedback and reviews <3 
> 
> Our time in Thailand is nearly at an end and I’m excited for what comes next :-)


End file.
